No Good Deed
by Joon
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley discuss the skull situation. Good OmensDresden Files TV Series crossover. Sequel to Site Evaluation.


Sometimes Crowley wished he could go back in time and throttle his younger self. Mankind had been a good two centuries out of the 14th century and the feeling of joy that time was only taking him further and further away had yet to wear off for Crowley. He had tempted and finally succeeded in convincing Aziraphale to come with him to a tavern for a drink. It had been the first time the demon had finally gotten his counterpart to partake in a good drinking session, so it had only added to his good mood.

"Human beings….lovely," the angel had sighed into his glass.

"Not true," the demon had countered as per his job description, waving his arm about the tavern. "Raving bunch of nasty little….raving nasty persons," Crowley had praised.

"You point me out any human being, dear boy," the angel had slurred, drunkenly. "And I can tell you with conf…with con…with…I can tell you with being very, very sure," he had amended. "That there is something to be loved. One must cherish all man and woman….like the lovely persons they are."

Rising to the challenge, Crowley had looked through his empty glass and pointed out a human.

Despite his state of inebriation, the demon had been thoughtful enough to pick a human who was a wizard. And a pretty nasty one at that. He had known the angel was a little prickly about people of that faction. Following Crowley's finger to the demon's target, a distressed look had crossed Aziraphale's face.

"By the end of his life, mark my words, his soul'll be Downstairs," Crowley had declared with a satisfied grin.

Only Crowley had been wrong. And not even in the way he might have expected to be. By that point, he was fine for forgetting all about it. The demon had been certain that once these human wizards got over themselves and freed the damn soul, it would take the express train to hell, as it should have centuries ago. But it seemed recent events had the heavenly agents kicking up a few stones about redemption and good deeds.

So now the demon was currently having the great pleasure of stalking the wizard's current keeper while falling into old patterns of arguing with Aziraphale, who was being particularly ornery about this.

"By the end of his life, I said," stated Crowley, staring out the restaurant window toward the apartment. "His life has technically ended."

"And his soul hasn't gone anywhere other than remain here," Aziraphale countered. "Are you really supposed to put that on there?" he asked. The angel dubiously eyed the rapidly growing hot dog in Crowley's hands.

" 'Course you are," said the demon, adding the chopped onions onto the piles of relish, pickles, tomatoes and lettuce. "Look, it's all because of a matter of technicality that your people are insisting that you vie for this one," Crowley argued.

Aziraphale looked at his own, comparatively naked hot dog before pushing it to the side with a sigh. "Good deeds are good deeds," said the angel, pedantically.

"Not for those past their expiration date," said Crowley. "You make your choices when you're alive and when you die, no more choices. Fate sealed." He punctuated his statement by taking a large bite of the overflowing sandwich. Relish and hot peppers leaked all over the already stained table. Crowley could feel his human body arteries hardening already and loved every second of it. "And besides," he continued around the mouthful. "You can't grouse about this not being fair. I know you had something to do with him falling in love that time so don't act sore that your meddling didn't change things for him."

"Really Crowley, I'm offended," Aziraphale had said, looking injured and a bit disgusted at the mangled remains of the hot dog still in the demon's hands. "Unlike you, I do keep to the terms."

Licking excess relish off his fingers, the demon gave Aziraphale a measuring look. The angel had been significantly more uptight about regulations back then. But when the wizard fell in love with that woman who'd managed to temper his research from delving further into the slightly more sinister branches of magic, merely days after the angel and the demon had agreed to track his life, Crowley couldn't believe it was all a happy accident.

"And in any case," continued Aziraphale, finally taking a small bite of his own sandwich. "Falling in love ended very badly for him. Not that I'm accusing you. Not about that, at least." Crowley stared uncomprehendingly at the angel's comment. "Am I really to believe you didn't tempt the poor man after she died?"

"Hey, I take no credit for that. He came up with that reanimation plan all on his own."

Aziraphale made a noncommittal sound and ate more of his hot dog.

"Let's focus on the facts here," Crowley offered, crunching a few stray peppers with his teeth. "He killed people. He was a fully paid up member of the occult. He messed around with raising the dead," the demon listed. "Oh, yes, have I mentioned he killed people? His soul's obviously ours."

Aziraphale remained looked stubborn. "The scales have changed in the last several centuries. There have been good deeds done that should be accounted for. This doesn't taste the same without ketchup," he added, gesturing to his food.

"You're not supposed to put that on these in Chicago," Crowley informed off-handedly, keeping his mind on the argument. "The dead don't get to have any more good or bad deeds. You know, this is typical of you people," he said with some rancor. "Everyone's a stickler for the rules until it no longer favors you. Then suddenly the books are getting thrown out the windows."

"What do books have to do with it?" asked Aziraphale, puzzled. "They don't even have books up-"

"Metaphorically," Crowley interrupted. "My point is, your side bends the rules and I'm the one left having to explain to Home Office why the soul of an evil sorcerer slipped by me."

Aziraphale benignly chewed his lunch. "It's a very special case. Perhaps we could discuss the matter with the lingering soul."

Crowley gave him a stare that many a therapist gave asylum patients in their care. "Because you really think he's going to pick to go Down? Oh, give me a fighting chance, here."

"Or perhaps we could bring the matter up to Mr. Dresden," Aziraphale suggested, casually.

"And that's another thing, angel. Why do you keep involving him? First you snatch him to London and then you insisted we talk to him when we could have just taken the skull. You fancy him or what?"

"Dear boy, no. I simply can't help feeling a little sorry for him, that's all."

"And that involves this situation how?" demanded Crowley.

"I don't feel right about running off with the skull when it's obvious Mr. Dresden genuinely cares about the soul's well-being. He's been traumatized enough as it is with his parents and then that uncle of his. Taking the skull without any explanation would be a very bad shock for him."

"My demonic, human-torturing heart bleeds for the miserable man."

Aziraphale smiled. "I always knew deep inside you were a decent chap, Crowley."

"I'm being sarcastic!" he snapped.

"Well, in that case, I might bring up that poor Mr. Dresden-"

Sensing the longevity of the speech, the demon stood up, interrupting the angel. "I need alcohol for this. Stop talking until we start drinking. Let's find a pub."

"Do they have pubs here?" asked Aziraphale, gathering his coat.

"Yeah, they're called bars."

"Is drinking wise? Isn't that how we ended up getting involved in the first place?"

"Yeah. Makes for a nice circle, don't you think?"

* * *

"Harry? What are you doing?" asked Bob.

"They're back," the wizard answered, keeping his eyes on the diner across the street. He'd been standing in his store front, peering through closed blinds for the last half hour.

"Who's back?"

"Those two guys that were in here a few days ago. The ones who were looking at your skull. They're across the street right now."

Leaning next to Harry, the ghost looked through the blinds to see the two familiar figures leaving the diner. It was obvious they were arguing about something, but their manner suggested this was an old act both were very familiar with.

"They're leaving now," Bob observed.

"Yeah, but they'll be back," said Harry.

"What makes you so sure?"

"A hunch." The wizard let the blinds fall and moved away with a grimace. After the last time he'd seen those two, leaving his apartment, Harry's earlier genial amusement at their strangeness had now cemented into firm paranoia. "I've got a bad feeling about this."

"Last time they were here, you said they looked harmless," the ghost mentioned. His voice had an expert blend of sardonic rebuke.

"I was wrong," Harry replied. "Yeah, enjoy the feeling of triumph later," he ordered. "We need to figure out a way to increase security around here. They walked through my wards without even breaking them."

"There are other protection runes you could try."

Harry nodded, thinking over the events of his meeting with the two mystery clients with more seriousness. "They were here for you specifically. D'you recognize them at all?"

"I'm afraid not," said Bob. "Although looks can be deceiving."

"What, like skin walkers?"

"I highly doubt a skin walker would be able to pass through your wards with such ease."

Pressing his lips down in thought, Harry formulated a plan. He didn't have much experience in making plans and thought it most likely to be useless, but he gained some comfort in trying to at least be proactive.

"You work on the protection wards for this place," he instructed Bob. "I'm going to see if I can get Morgan to drop by." Harry guessed the Council might know something if a possible theft of Bob's skull was involved.

"Don't you have a meeting with Lieutenant Murphy?" asked the ghost, noting the time.

"Yeah, but…I'll cancel it for now," the wizard decided, quickly.

"Harry."

"I should stick around the apartment. Just in case."

"You can't afford not to work for the lieutenant," Bob said.

"Yeah, well, I can't afford to leave you here alone, either," argued Harry, stubbornly.

"You could carry me with you," Bob suggested, faintly eager to have a chance to move beyond the confines of the apartment.

"No way. This apartment might not be completely protected, but out there we're leaving ourselves vulnerable," stated Harry, firmly. "Until we figure out who those guys are, you and I are staying here where I can keep an eye on you."

The ghost could tell that Harry was worried, even more so than even his fidgeting body language was letting on. And in efforts to try and ease the wizard's mind, Bob agreed to the plan with as light a tone as possible. He also agreed with as much casual indifference as he was able to muster when Harry awkwardly asked for Bob to remain formed outside of his skull for the time being.

"Just…you know. So it's easier to know you're around."

"Of course."

THE END


End file.
